


ghost voices

by carnivorousBelvedere



Category: Homestuck
Genre: DJ AU, DJ Dave Strider, Drug Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Manager Karkat, Pining, What drug is Dave on this week?, background Dirk Strider/Jake English
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-06-01 18:06:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15148826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carnivorousBelvedere/pseuds/carnivorousBelvedere
Summary: United by a love of turntables, brothers Dirk and Dave Strider became internationally acclaimed DJ duo The Striders.It's become a glamorous life between their club residency in Vegas, weekly radio podcast, and regular festival trips all over the world.Outside of the spotlight, Dave struggles with the pressure of fame and Dirk has a secret his brother can never know.Somehow, their manager Karkat Vantas keeps it all together.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from [Virtual Self - Ghost Voices](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FUzs2oMEs8w).

A shared childhood and love for turntables was what it took for brothers Dirk and Dave Strider, two laidback 26-year-olds, to become dynamic DJ and producing firestorm duo The Striders. The smash hit “unite & synchronize” destroyed dance floors across the globe in 2014, launching the two American based artists onto the forefront of the EDM scene. The brothers became instant festival hits with their ever-evolving performances. Today their iconic triangle glasses are worn by fans worldwide. 

Their sets are eclectic, with both brothers pushing each other’s limits and creating a masterful weave of genres. Individually, Dave is recognized for his dedicated use of turntables with a mash of dubstep, trap and bass-boosted garage-inspired drops that subwoofers love. Dirk’s main style continues to transcend with his polished trance-house and glitch hop beats to produce infectious headbangers. In the studio, they come together to produce the acclaimed “Striderian” sound of their combined styles. 

They are respected for the zeal with which they host “Casa de Strider”, a weekly SiriusXM sponsored podcast. It became a listener favorite with their easy demeanor and metaphorical banter accompanied by their own mixes and weekly track picks. 

The two artists credit their success and current Las Vegas DJ residency to the support of previous Gamz manager Karkat Vantas, who signed them with LOHAC records before their rise to fame.

—read more at **edmcentralusa.com**

\---

The set starts out great. 

Dirk and Dave are starting off back to back style, spinning a fusion of progressive trance house beats. Dirk works the middle set of dials and Dave moves around him, queuing up the synth tones and fifths and working them together with his turntable. Dirk listens in to the progressive track and plugs in another chord arrangement, nodding to Dave.

Dave takes the cue, reaches up to to the top of the table and grabs two dials, turning them slowly before flipping another set back dramatically, progressing the track into another segment. He slowly turns up another dial with one hand, building up the volume with one hand and pushing his turntable with the other. Dirk continues to move, pushing up two buttons and then pushing several on the tone pad. Dave turns down the dial and hits the accompanying switch, unleashing a new beat and set of bouncy electro notes. 

The progressive trance-house building is fascinating to watch as they work around each other but always in sync. 

Karkat Vantas stands at the edge of the stage entrance to the right of where Dave stands. He has his arms crossed tightly to his chest and his headset hangs loose around his neck. He can feel the bass, not even kicked up to its full potential, thrumming through his chest even though he’s standing behind the subwoofers. His attire is a simple black shirt and pants and he would probably be mistaken for stage crew if not for the giant lanyard tag around his neck that read 

ULTRAFEST PASS  
KARKAT VANTAS - MANAGER - THE STRIDERS  
SET SAT 1 AM @ electroLAKE.

The electroLAKE stage is bigger than it should have any business being. It’s an Egyptian theme with a pyramid over the top of the DJ booth centered in the middle that wraps around the giant space where the moving audience dances. There must be at least thirty thousand people out there right now, even the edges are packed in. According to what Karkat had been told about this stage area it could fit another ten thousand. He exhales and fidgets his arms. He won’t relax until the set is done and his boys are off the stage.  
Dave cues up a thick, modulated sound and unleashes it on the crowd. The result is palpable with new audience movement and cheering. Karkat nods and purses his lips, impressed. It was an incredibly satisfying chord. “Phat”, as Dave might say in the studio. The manager can’t help himself, his foot taps along though he absolutely refuses to dance otherwise. 

Karkat’s eyes are on Dave as he focuses on the set behind his pointed glasses.

To anyone else, it looks like he’s just the manager, doing his job and watching his client. But nope, he is eating up every eyeful he can get of Dave up on that stage. 

It’s beautiful to watch him. His face doesn’t often change but his movement is expressive. Karkat loves the way he pushes his digital turntables, or how he flies over the panel when he’s putting together a new sound to let fly on his audience. 

Dirk lifts up his headset to listen in, nodding along with the beat. He touches Dave’s arm and asks him a quick question which he affirms. His own headset is sticking wrapped around the back of his head. 

It’s a warm night in the desert, at one am it’s still hovering at eighty-seven degrees. He can just begin to see a bead of sweat down the back of Dave’s neck. 

Both are dressed in white v-neck shirts with a chest pocket that has their symbol printed on it, paired with some designer skinny fit jeans. Karkat prides himself on the choice. It looks incredible on Dave and he is just about the only person who can appreciate it because the entire crowd can only see above their chests on the elevated stage. 

That and the professional photo and videographers who are buzzing behind them for promotional materials after the show. 

Oh, nice. They are slowly mixing in a [popular funk tune](https://youtu.be/A_BXJdUGK80?t=46s). When they drop that it’s going to kill. Dave continues to let that fat chord fly out. That’s when he hears the first mixed lyrics of the set and it drops. 

It’s a good one. The crowd loves it, instantly validating The Striders as they dance on and cheer.  
He can make out tons of people wearing those same triangle glasses, probably less as fans and more so hiding their blown wide pupils. Over half the crowd is probably rolling.  
The beat drops again and the two men jump along on stage with the crowd. Soon, they’ll separate to separate sides of the booth to move into the versus portion of the set, starting with the redux of this track. Dirk takes his turn first, mixing into another funk-like song and giving his brother a break. His hands move fast and with purpose as he listens in actively, with one ear of his headset on and the other listening to the live track. He begins to bring in the next set of fifths to line up. Doubles the bass. He lets the current track descend and flips it in. It’s a bit softer and housey. 

Dave nods along, no expression change but Karkat knows he is ready to fly into movement as soon as Dirk hands him the reigns. Dirk cues up the next track a [dubstep-house tune](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P3dpZIBL4DY). Dave nods and throws himself into it, plugging in a harmonic and new synth lead with one hand and moving the turntable with his other hand. He actually has to throw some strength into it as he speeds up the track to match what he wants. Dirk gets to stand back for a second and bobs his head while watching. 

It’s a good drop. He continues mixing into the next portion. Huh, he’s throwing in that track again. Well, might as well get it out of the way early in the set since Karkat has heard it at nearly every set he’s seen this weekend. It’s a [popular trance track](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FUzs2oMEs8w) that is right in Dirk’s corner. Dirk takes back the controls and barely has to even think about how to mix this one. 

It goes on like this for another fifteen minutes, no hitches. This is how their sets usually go, a constant flow of them working off each other in pursuit of the best drop. The fact that they can go one to one like this is a unique aspect of their sets. Most DJs who play together usually trade off every three songs, but this style keeps them on their toes. 

That’s when it starts to slip on Dave’s end. Oh no, not again. It’s only what, twenty minutes into the set? He’s already fucked up. 

Karkat is going to murder whoever hooked him up. He thought he cleaned house but not well enough. The big festivals are always ridiculous party drug landmines. His fingers angrily dig into his biceps as he glares from across the stage with crossed arms at his client. 

Dirk glances sidelong over at Dave after he releases a sub-par drop. At least someone can keep it together on this goddamn platform. Karkat can actually make out Dirk snorting as he begins to move them back into b2b. As long as Dirk can have most of the control he can avoid Dave completely railroading them. Dave flashes a grin at him, cracking his stoic facade. If Dirk takes too much control Dave is going to jump in front of the booth and make a fool of himself again. Karkat will be especially powerless to stop him if Dave notices the mic hedged between them. That’s when sets go straight in the shitter, when fucked up Dave starts hype-manning Dirk’s mixing. They aren’t supposed to talk to the audience because that shit is obnoxious and they know it. Karkat grinds his teeth and pulls his arms in tighter. Jesus, only an hour of left of this. 

The set finally finishes and Dirk and Dave let the festival photography unit take their photo. They pose with some fans who bought their special VIP tickets for this set. Karkat scowls when a female fan pulls Dave a little too close. 

But mostly, or so he tells himself, he’s thankful for the glasses that are undeniably hiding Dave’s eyes.

The two exit to where Karkat is and he lights into them. “Let me see your fucking eyes, Dave,” he says. 

Dave scoffs at him but he’s still grinning wide. “C’mon man don’t kill my vibe here.”

“Show me before I rip those fuckers off your face,” Karkat growls. 

Dirk crosses his arms and nods to the DJ about to go on after them. Karkat could give less shits right now. 

Dave exhales and lifts the shades up, leaning in to Karkat’s face. Just as he suspected, those pupils are huge. Dave is completely blitzed and his level of ‘fucked up’ is pretty apparent on his face. 

“Fucking shit. Let’s get you back to your trailer you are in no state to be out right now.” That’s the opposite of true, Dave is in an ideal state to go party the night away but Karkat’s going to pretend he’s avoiding some PR disaster. Which there would be if he lost his client rolling balls in a crowd. Karkat turns and begins to lead them to the behind the stage where a golf cart is waiting to take them back. 

“Aww look at my manager being all cute and protective and stuff. I just love you so much man you’re the best and you know it,” Dave effuses from behind. Karkat stiffens. It’s just the drugs, he thinks with a saddened twinge. A stage assistant hands both Striders water bottles which they down eagerly. 

“But dude, friend, what if I want to stay out here?” Dave whines as he tosses the empty bottle back to the same person. 

“Not with that fucked up face! Dave, you’re honestly rolling balls right now I really wish you could just see your fucking face. Dirk can do whatever the fuck he wants right now, but not you.” Karkat says. “What did you even take this time? Was it a Tesla?” 

Dave giggles and Karkat wants to throttle him. “Yeah,” he breathes. 

“A whole one?” 

“Maybe…” Dave answers. 

“Jesus christ how are you even functioning right now. God you are a walking disaster,” Karkat mutters as they descend back to the ground. He tries to remember if Teslas are the ones that sometimes have heroin in them and prays they aren’t. 

“Karkat I can’t see my face but can you touch it that would just feel so fucking nice right now,” Dave says with a soft moan. “Doesn’t gotta be gay, we all know this isn’t gay because I’m motherfucking blitzed.”

Oh, god, yes, let me touch your face, an anguished part of Karkat wishes. But no. Dave is rolling hard and he’s just exhibiting all the expected side effects. He just wants Karkat to touch his face because he’s fucked up and it feels good. 

Dirk makes a face and checks his phone. He avoids looking as Dave as he says, “Hey Karks I actually think I might stay here for a bit if that’s chill.”

Karkat looks at him. “I just fucking said you could do whatever you want because unlike your brother you can manage to keep your shit together. I’m not supposed to be your fucking babysitter.” 

“Yeah, uh, right. Alright peace out, night Davey.” Usually this would be the time where they break down and discuss the set, with what went right and wrong and how the audience liked it. There is pretty much no use right now though. It’ll have to wait until tomorrow, and even then it will probably be no use because Dirk pretty much led the entire set. Dirk takes off his glasses and tucks away his lanyard before he slips out of the security area and begins to make his way to god knows where. 

Dave is still giggling to himself. Karkat sighs and helps him into the golf cart. The driver knows where to take them and starts driving when Karkat gives him the go ahead. 

He resists the urge to dive into Twitter where no doubt people are noting Dave’s inactivity during the show. Instead he looks at Dave who has his feet kicked up over the chair and is smiling like a goof as he trips out. 

High or not, he looks relaxed for once and Karkat’s heart squeezes. 

_Don’t fuck with cute straight boys and their baggage_ , an old voice echoes in his head. 

_Too late_ , Karkat answers it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watch a DJ duo on a festival stage [here](https://youtu.be/86Z5TeUyD-g?t=4m13s). 
> 
> In this fic The Striders are about equivalently famous to The Chainsmokers. 
> 
> I determined that the produced Striderian sound is essentially the Pegboard Nerds. You could listen to pretty much everything they've done and it would sound like The Striders. [Hero - Pegboard Nerds](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5lLclBfKj48). 
> 
> "Casa de Strider" is based off of ["House of Borgeous"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gu6czkgLxB0), a weekly podcast by Borgeous.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> scenes from a partnership

Some people ask Karkat how he did it. How I did what? He asks them back. Make people famous? 

He doesn’t really know. He remembers being sixteen, burning Gamzee’s first raps onto CDs. He remembers sending email after email, attaching poorly rendered clips of his tracks. 

He remembers booking Gamzee’s first gig. 

For some reason, people listened to him. He made connection after connection, asked for favors and repaid them in due time. 

And most of all, he believed in his artist and their success. He knew Gamzee would be successful, and he was.

He was just good at his job. 

“What kind of mangled beats are these thrashing on my temporal lobe?” Karkat yells as he listens through the computer in front of him. The two Striders sit tensely in front his desk. 

Dirk and Dave blanch simultaneously. It’s cute how nervous they are. Dirk runs a hand through his air and starts to explain. “Well, uh--” 

Karkat throws out a hand. “Shut up,” he listened to the music for a few seconds longer, eyes darting between the screen and the two people in front of him. “You’re going to be popular. Show me the track you promised would be better than your sample.”

It’s the first time he hears “unite & synchronize.”

He calls up LOHAC Records and cashes in a favor. 

The Striders are signed on the spot. 

He would never, ever forget the way Dave shook his hand with the widest, most exuberant grin on his face, his strong jawline lit up with something like pure joy, or the way that Dirk stumbled over his words trying to thank him. 

Now, he just had to brush up on the manager role. 

\---

It’s two weeks before the first tour is set to start. One afternoon, Dirk materializes in Karkat’s office.

“What’s up?” Karkat says and pauses the track he was listening to. He always gives his clients his full undivided attention. 

“I need something for the tour,” Dirk says. 

“Uh, okay.”

He waits and Dirk stares at him. “Dirk we’re about to get very up close and personal with each other for the next six months. If you need something from me you need to be able to tell me.” That was putting it lightly. 

“I need a sparring room.” He practically blurts it out. 

“You want a _what_?” Karkat is actually incredulous. This request actually slapped him in the face. 

“You heard me.” 

“No, I really didn’t. I’m not sure if you realize but that’s a rather untraditional thing to ask for.” Karkat’s known of them requesting stuff like hot tubs, but a bus sparring add-on? 

“Yeah well. Dave and I are going to go fuckwit crazy without a place to exercise.” 

“You’re going to give up bedspace if I edit the tour bus at this point, you know that right?”

Dirk nods. “Yep.” 

Karkat exhales heavily and flips open an excel on his computer. “Alright. I’ll make it work.”

Dirk looks relieved. “Oh man thank god you’re the best Karkat. They told me you move mountains.”

“Save the praise for someone who gives a shit.”

\---

Karkat flips through his clipboard, running off every last tour-related item. The truck is loaded with their mixing and producing equipment. 

He’s still bewildered by the sparring addition. Dirk requested swords too, and Karkat sincerely hopes he doesn’t intend to practice with those while they are actually driving. 

Then he flips to the schedule. He’s got to call Nepeta later and go over the Instagram and Facebook coverage. 

Then his publicist is supposed to call him about the music videos. 

Since they are just starting out, Karkat scheduled them on a bus-based tour for their first time. No international gigs yet, but he’s pretty sure he can start booking them for Ibiza and Amsterdam by the time the summer is over. In fact, he fully expects them to “pop off” across the pond and he’s put more than one egg in that basket. He can’t wait to click the button for when he orders their tickets to Sydney. 

He laughed at the shocked looks of Dave and Dirk as he outlined their upcoming months. 

“We can’t afford that,” they’d said. 

Karkat had taken a very pointed moment to tell them he books for gigs to sell out and for tracks to top the charts. And they will. 

He knows it. 

\---

Bus touring life sucks. Karkat forgot how much he hated it and how much it ground down his soul during the beginning of the six-month stateside trek. The Striders were opening for another, much more well known DJ. Which was not bad for a first tour with a record label. 

Dirk and Dave had started making their own collections of shit they pick up a rest stops for their own entertainment. 

They kick their feet up in the bus and play skateboarding games or mix on their laptops when they aren’t sleeping. 

Karkat doesn’t nag them, but when it gets close to a showtime and they haven’t already started outlining a show he starts to get nervous. They don’t really need to outline really. Since they spin one track each while taking turns, a heavy challenge for even DJs with years of experience, they can sort of wing it. Still, Karkat would never forgive himself if a show fell flat when they weren’t jiving right. 

It hadn’t happened yet. 

It’s honestly amazing to watch them. Dirk prefers to mix trance and house, and Karkat has been able to rapidly define his tracks on a stage. But somehow he manages to spin with Dave who can’t not play dubstep or trap to save his life. Dave can take a Dirk track and trap it in seconds, maybe that’s the key. 

In the little he’s seen of them in a studio, they slam out complextro tracks together like they were born to do it. 

Karkat chugs coffee followed by a water bottle of vitamin C infused water. Getting sick is the bane of a manager’s existence and he long ago ironed out how to avoid it on the road. 

They’ve got another five hours before they reach their destination. 

At some point Dirk puts down the controller and nods to the back. Dave leaps up, ready. 

Karkat knows the drill so far. It’s amazing how with having a smooth driver they can pretty easily workout back there. And now, they’ve recruited him. 

When he uses the bus’s turning momentum to land a punch on Dirk, Dave cheers and throws two excited hands on Karkat’s back, shaking him excitedly. 

Karkat flushes because of his victory, not because of his client. 

\---

Karkat ends a phone call with their publicist. They’ve got an interview after the next show and he announces it to the two boys before folding over a chair back where Dave is quietly mixing on his computer. 

“How’s it going?” he asks.

Dave actually jumps, startled by Karkat’s presence. “Oh, hey, shit dude. I’m just messing around.” 

“Anything worth showing me?” 

Dave shakes his head. “Uh, sit down though. Maybe we can jam something together.”

“I don’t mix,” Karkat responds dryly. 

“That’s because you haven’t been taught yet,” Dave grins at him. “But thankfully, you’ve got Dave Strider, DJ extraordinaire at your disposal and he’s gonna teach you everything he knows. Buckle up asshole, we’re about to go on a ride through trap-land. Watch out for the dinosaurs with lasers on their heads, they might bite.” 

Karkat scoffs but plops down next to Dave, who glances sidelong at him with an enthused grin. 

He’s attractive. So very, very attractive. Karkat shouldn’t be in such close quarters with him, how does he even manage to share a goddamn bunk with him on this bus, he shouldn’t be here-- but it doesn’t matter, because Dave is sliding the computer in front of Karkat and unplugging the headphones. 

“Usually we start with 140-150 bpm and add a simple kick and snare pattern,” Dave starts explaining. 

Karkat settles in for a long awaited lesson in EDM mixing and producing. It’ll come in handy next time they really settle into a permanent studio, anyways. 

\---

Most DJ stages are elevated. This venue likes their DJs up close and personal, so there is maybe one feet between the mixing equipment and these fans. 

It’s a special event to film Dirk and Dave mixing and some good PR. The fact that they were reached out to to make this video instead of the other way around is an especially good sign. 

So when someone drags Karkat away from the tiny booth away from his clients, he come back to find them both sipping which could be anything from a long island ice tea to a coke and rum and he is not a fan of either possibility. Well, Dirk is sipping. Dave is kicking it back like water. 

Fuck. 

When they get off the booth he crosses his arms and takes them backstage. 

“You both know you aren’t supposed to accept drinks from the audience.” 

Dave sneers. “We can handle our liquor dude.” 

Karkat’s back goes as straight as a ruler. “Oh, if I have a dollar for every time I heard that line.” His voice is cold. 

He doesn’t need this, the memories of Gamzee so drunk they just started playing his canned tracks while he was still rapping on stage. 

“You guys were doing promotional footage and chugging god knows what.” If anything he can get them from the public relations standpoint. “If you guys want a drink please god just fucking ask me to get it for you okay?” 

They nod understandingly, but Karkat does not miss Dave’s small tipsy smirk. 

\---

Another produced track goes hot on the billboards. They crack open beers and listen to it on loop in the bus. 

\---

Dave whoops and jumps out of his chair as he and Dirk finish polishing the track.  
He turns to Dirk and they enthusiastically bump fists as they let the track play. 

And Karkat hesitates to use such obnoxious language, but he he will indeed admit that this track “fucking slaps”. 

If he were to look under Dave’s glasses, he would definitely see those dilated, excited pupils again. But he doesn’t need to look to prove that his clients are under the influence because thin white lines and a rolled twenty are pretty easily visible on the glass top coffee table of the recording room. 

Karkat had locked the door and placed a sign for a private mixing session for a reason.

When Dirk is fucked up it’s nearly impossible to tell. He’s coked the fuck up according to what Karkat just observed but it’s only noticeable because his movements are slightly jerkier and mannerisms more expressive. He only does it because Dave pressures him into it, and Karkat grinds his teeth every time he gives in to his brother’s badgering. His producing energy is kicked up because his usual trance tones are replaced by clean sawtooth bass mix-ins and brassy leads that even Dave is silently jealous of. 

Even so, Dave is kicking up the BPM to ‘as fast as fucking possible’ and interspersing dirty bass with trapped backbeats and percussion arranged by Dirk. The stabs are arranged better than Karkat has ever heard before. 

Succinctly put, it fucking slaps. 

“Oh fuck this is dirty,” Dave grins and wipes his forehead. He’s beating Dirk in the ‘obviously coked out’ department. He’ll ride his kick until he crashes in an hour and then he’ll probably sneak away for key bumps if they keep going with the session. 

Dirk nods and smiles, his usual tight-lipped smile showing some teeth for once. “This is why we do this,” he smiles.

Dave actually pauses, and turns to his brother and nods. “This is why we do this.” 

\---

When they end the bus tour there is no rest. 

Thankfully, they’ve got the momentum to start flying instead of busing to places.

Karkat double, sometimes triple checks they will have the right equipment before. He goes off whenever they get up to the box and it’s the wrong setup. Dirk and Dave’s mixing style requires a very specific arrangement. 

Soon, they land their first few international gigs. 

They’re at the Academy in London and are going on before the resident DJ. But before that there is literally an hour to fill. 

“Dude, you should mix,” Dave says and hands Karkat a drink. 

He gapes at him. “What the fuck? Do you have any idea how many connected people are out there on that balcony? If I fuck this up it’s not just gonna be me who doesn’t live it down.”

Dave just shakes his head and shoves him toward the booth. “Come on man. They’re playing produced garbage. I want some Vantas original mixes, hot off the turntable.” 

Karkat soon finds himself in front of the decks. Dave stands a few feet behind him with his beverage. 

Karkat’s hands hesitate over the turnable for one burning second. He presses on and starts to spin. Dave claps behind him. 

Dave shakes him excitedly and pulls him into a hug when he finishes. “Karkat, holy fuck that was amazing! When did you get so good at trance I swear I could feel Dirk’s pride across the room.” 

“Hey,” Karkat shrugs. “I had a good teacher.” 

Dave grins at him as he pulls away. “Hell yeah you did.” 

He’s tipsy. Karkat can smell the alcohol on his breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the track Dirk and Dave mix while coked out: [GTA ft Sam Bruno- Red Lips (Psychic Type remix)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xq6yMwS1XcM).


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a vegas life

Karkat gets a call from Sirius XM.

Then he calls a meeting for his boys.

He discusses the offer with them over eggs benedicts a nice brunch place, and puts it all on the label tab. 

Sirius wants to offer them a weekly podcast slot. “Casa de Strider,” they’d call it.

Dave knuckles Dirk’s arm and tells him he has to work on their radio voice, but the two enthusiastically accept. 

\---

They stay at an eccentric singer’s house and jump of of a plane the next day. 

Dave drops acid when the singer offers after ascending.

Karkat finds out later, and almost breaks his phone. 

\---

When Karkat first negotiated their Vegas contracts, Dave and Dirk didn’t want a comped strip suite hotel room. No, they wanted one of the apartments overlooking the Cosmo across the street from the MGM where they had their main DJ residency at Hakkasan. The Veer Towers.  
It was a nice place, to put it lightly. Designer flooring, European style countertops and lighting, open floor plans with glass sliding doors between rooms. Karkat picked out their personal backsplashes and cream finishes himself. Dirk had been particularly adamant about the quiet infinity pool on the roof. 

Karkat’s only requirement was that he got one to himself and that he got keys to both of their condominiums. A safety measure, and one he told himself he’d require of all his clients after the Gamzee incident. 

When they aren’t traveling for festivals, they’re doing nightly one am sets at Hakkasan, sometimes Marquee and occasionally Light. And then other PR events like LA LAB mixing sessions required them to go out. Karkat was currently in the process of getting them a slot at XS, the hottest venue in on the strip that year. 

It’s a busy Saturday night at Hakkasan, with a long line out the door and packed dance floor. Drunk table patrons buy wads of money to throw at people and waitresses loophole them into purchasing more bottles of five-hundred dollar shitty vodka.  
The floor is lit up with green lasers and the air is sweltering. Thankfully, Karkat doesn’t have to be near this uncomfortable ambiance just yet. 

Dave has his feet kicked back up on the table in the green room, sipping something clear on ice Karkat can’t determine. Dirk is hanging out on the one seat couch next to him, scrolling down Instagram on his phone at an angle that Karkat can’t really see. 

“Karkat, sit down man. I’m anxious just looking at you,” Dave drawls from the loveseat. 

Karkat checks the time, it’s 12:38, about twenty minutes until go time and that means any second he’s not watching Dave is another moment he could be snorting something down. Karkat won’t go as far as to pat down his client but there have sure been a few times when he’s been tempted. 

“I’ll sit down when you’re on stage.” Karkat rocks back and forth, actually tempted to pour some of the complimentary reserve whisky that’s been left out for them on a counter. The smoky liquor dispersing like gasoline in his mouth might actually calm his nerves. Why is he always like this before shows nowadays? 

He remembers what it was like before concerts with Gamzee. The fear that would streak through him when he stumbled upon the rapper in his trailer or backroom, already high off inhalants or whatever Gamzee managed to get ahold of. 

Karkat doesn’t miss those days. Even though he’s still living a similar hazy nightmare with Dave Strider. 

The Striders finally go up to the DJ booth and set the dancefloor ablaze. Enduring dense air and bright flashing lights from behind the booth, Karkat watches Dave. 

\---

On warm afternoons when Karkat manages to wake up at a decent hour after a long night of being out in the clubs with his clients, he goes up to the rooftop infinity pool.

He especially loves it when he comes across the whole top floor empty. 

Up there on the roof, overlooking the entire, gaudy Strip, he feels some kind restlessness. The roof isolates him from all those people on the heated ground, walking quickly between air-conditioned casinos. 

He loves seeing dusk settling down on the desert around him, filling the sky with the first strokes of purple and yellow. 

For some people, this is vacation. For him, it’s business as usual. 

Today, someone is texting him over on the edge of the pool where he left his phone. He ignores it, someone is always texting him. 

“What’s up Karks,” he hears behind him. He swivels his head to the familiar voice that trickles into him like tipping a honey jar. 

It’s Dave, standing next to his comedian friend, John. 

His friend smiles and waves, recognizing him. “Hey! Karkat!” 

John comes to hangout with Dave sometimes, the two of them apparently having been friends since high school. John became a comedian, and sometimes he’s in Vegas for shows. Karkat wracks his brain trying to remember if Dave told him John had a show coming through and comes up short. 

Karkat’s mind is busy, drinking in Dave sitting on the edge of the pool as the desert wind blows through his hair. 

The three of them partake in some ribbing prompted by John while Dave chain smokes and Karkat holds his tongue. 

“God, where did you even get that bit about the cake?” Karkat asks him. 

John laughs a bit loudly. “Oh, gosh, that one was from my dad.”

“How’s he doing by the way?” Dave juts in. 

John elbows him. “He asked about you the other day. Something about checking in on his second son.”

Dave smiles, a tad embarrassed, but he looks pleased. 

\---

Sometimes, Karkat stumbles upon Dave on the roof. Sometimes, Dave stumbles on Karkat. 

Someone has to leave eventually. But sometimes, Dave asks Karkat to stay. 

“How are you doing?”

Dave rubs his desert-dried eyes. “Fucking tired, man. I think I’m gonna hit up the studio and call it a day.” There’s no show tonight, or tomorrow, so his boys have a few days off. “You wanna come over for some co-op later?”

“Yeah, why not. What’s Dirk up to, are you guys recording today?”

Dave sighs. “Honestly who even knows nowadays. He’s been so fucking secretive with how he spends his time. Like, I know he’s going off to visit Ro-Lal and friends. Doesn’t tell me. He could be fucking aligning his chakras with ayahuasca in Mexico and I’d be none the wiser.” 

Karkat bites his lip and tries not to wonder if Dave has even tried ayahuasca. He sure as hell can pronounce it correctly. However for Dirk’s sake he needs to play dumb. “I mean, I don’t really care as long as he’s not making a name for himself, per say. That’s shit for your PR agent to care about.” 

“Aww come on Karkat, you’d care if I disappeared without a note for days on end,” Dave says sincerely.

Karkat wills himself to not react physically. “Yeah, because I’d think you were dead. And if you’re dead, I don’t have a job.” It’s a lie. He’d care, but not because it was his livelihood. 

“Eh, you’d go back to the label.”

“The label is boring and I’m good at this manger shit. And you need a lot of managing, Dave.”

Dave flashes him an apologetic but amused smile. 

Eventually Karkat pulls himself out of the water, excusing himself to managerial business. 

“Hey, don’t go yet. I kinda liked getting my chill on with you even if we weren’t talking,” Dave says. 

Karkat looks back at his client. He doesn’t look strung out like he does before a show. His face is relaxed. His manner is so different from when he’s in those smoky back rooms of the Vegas clubs. 

Karkat says yes. 

 

Most of the time, he runs into Dirk on that rooftop. Dirk sits in the infinity pool for hours. Karkat doesn’t know how he does it, enduring the dry air and sun for so long, even if he’s mostly submerged in the water. Sometimes in the summer days the heat is so oppressive it feels like it’s choking but he’s always up there like some kind of human sponge. 

Karkat finishes up a phone call and goes to stand near the edge of the pool where Dirk is silently floating supine in the water. His face is placid yet troubled and it’s a look Karkat is more than familiar with. 

“Dirk.” 

The DJ opens his eyes and surfaces his ears. “Hey,” he says. “You here for business or pleasure?”

“I’m not allowed to say hello to my client?”

“Hey man when we’re on the road it’s one thing but it’s another when we’re just living our lives and shit.” 

“So am I bothering you?” Karkat asks with a sigh, electing to go straight for his throat. He hates it when Dirk does this, plays this game where he’ll hold a person arms length away but still in his palm. 

Dirk actually groans. “Fucking — no. Just sit down talking to you standing there is making me anxious.” 

Karkat nods and pulls a lounge chair up to the edge of the infinity pool. He eyes one of Dirk’s many ridiculous pairs of flip flops he collected from the tour days and laughs quietly. 

“Come on. Out with it,” Karkat says after he sits down on the lounge chair end. He’s patient. And he more than knows the drill with Dirk. 

He sighs heavily and frowns. “It’s Dave,” he says after a long moment, his hands fisted under the surface of the pool. 

“Yeah. I figured,” Karkat says. “How was Jake?”

Dirk’s eyes flash up to him. 

“Dirk, be serious here. Dave is the only one stupid enough to believe you’re just visiting Roxy.” 

He purses his lips before responding. “I dunno. It was Jake. We all went to a party in the hills. Took me to some stupid social climber thing. I fuckin hate LA.” He rubs at his eyes with wet hands. “I just. I want it to be a thing. But not with, you know, Dave being Dave.” 

“Yeah. Uh, I know.” Karkat really, really knows. “Think you’ll ever tell him?”

“It’s not important,” Dirk sighs. Karkat could roll his eyes, as if Dirk doesn’t obsess over whether or not Dave is going to like this piece he worked on, or whether or not he’d be okay with some polishing of this track or that. 

The only thing they could really talk to each other about was their music. Everything else about their lives was as tight-lipped as could be. 

For Karkat, it was a tightrope that became thinner every day. 

\----

 

Karkat is wrapping up a meeting when he gets the text from Dave to come into the studio. He tries to remember if Dave and Dirk were supposed to collab with someone today, but his calendar comes up blank for his boys. 

He jaunts across the strip to the studio location they’d been using as a base in Vegas. 

Dave has his headphones on and is deep in listening to something on his computer, plugged into the giant tables of the producing room next to the recording studio. He has to put a hand on Dave’s shoulder to rouse him. He jumps and pulls off the headphones. 

“Oh, fuck, Karkat. Thanks for coming in man. Can you listen to this?” he pulls out the headphone cord, but then pauses before hitting the play button again. “It’s missing something.”  
Karkat doesn’t even have a moment to ask where Dirk is as he hits the button and the track fills the room. 

Karkat listens. It’s not bad, but it could be better. He doesn’t really feel moved by it, not like how The Strider’s and even Dave’s individual tracks usually make him feel. Hell, it’s not even Dave’s traditional sound but it’s still trappy. 

“There’s no lyrics,” he observes. 

“Right. Can I borrow your voice?” Dave says. 

Karkat is very taken aback. “You want to _what_?”

“I want your voice. On this track. Trust me, I tried singing it, it doesn’t work. Pretty, pretty please will you sing.” 

“What the? Why don’t you just pick any up and coming asshole from the label?” 

“Because your voice would be perfect for this track. I’ve heard you sing, don’t make me rehash--” 

“Oh god, that’s not necessary. I’m not drunk enough for this anyways.” 

Dave grins and scoots over to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of vodka and a sugar free Redbull with a chilled glass. “No excuses man.” He holds them out to Karkat with an earnest expression.

Karkat just stares at him and purses his lips.

“Karkat. Please? I really really want to hear you do this. Don’t make me beg.”

It breaks him and he waves his hand in a ‘give me’ motion. 

“Oh yesssss,” Dave hisses and cracks open the can, pouring it into the glass with the vodka. It’s a lot of vodka. 

Dave gives him a sheet with the lyrics, and starts to walk him through the track while Karkat takes huge gulps of the purposefully strong beverage. The sooner it kicks in the better, he can already feel himself sweating at the prospect of singing in front of Dave. 

When he’s done Karkat’s finished the drink and Dave pours him another. Good. He’s gonna need it. 

He gets in the recording booth and bounces, just beginning to feel the alcohol loosening him up. All he can think about is Dave in the producing room, watching him through the glass wall while he screeches. There’s no way this is going to be radio worthy. 

The first run is more than poor. His voice cracks with anxiety, he can’t get those purposefully gritty lyrics to sound throaty enough. He cringes at the prospect of Dave having access to that recording and tries not to think of his expression beyond the glass wall. 

The second run is better. Dave points out a few spots we wants to be different. 

By the third run, his voice and disposition are decently liquored up. His voice doesn’t feel terrible on his own ears. 

Dave’s voice clicks through the speakers. “Holy shit, Karkat, this is some sexy shit we have going here.” 

Karkat tries to tell himself it’s the alcohol when he feels a strong flush run from his head to his stomach. 

After the fourth run he’s tired. Dave calls him back into the producing room. 

Karkat goes to sit in the couch on the other side of the room and waits, slightly tipsy, for Dave to finish mixing. He’s got the earphones back on and is listening intently. Karkat can just barely make out the tinny noise of music coming out of the headset. 

Dave’s fingers work quickly with purpose. Karkat can see him chopping up sound bites and music segments and piecing them together in layers. He works something on the synth pad, does something on the piano, then pieces them together on the computer 

After what feels like forever and Karkat is sweating and waiting for Dave to turn around and say his voice is trash, which is completely turning the tables since usually Karkat is the one to listen to Dirk and Dave’s tracks and tell them what he thinks. 

Finally he pulls off the headphones and swirls around to face Karkat, hitting play and letting the sounds fill the room. He’s grinning widely and looks very pleased with himself.

It starts off soft with some piano notes. Then Karkat hears his voice, mildly modulated with some autotune affects and general recording magic, as he liked to call it.  
It’s actually…. Good. He likes it. 

And then it drops, and, oh, Dave mixed in his breaths, probably cut from in between singing lyrics, and mixed it into the drop. Fuck. It’s actually really sexy. 

He meets Dave’s ecstatic face with his own incredulous eyes. 

“This is fucking amazing,” Karkat tells him. 

Dave nods excitedly. “I told you dude. I told you it was gonna be sexy! God I wish I could always use your voice you sound like a younger, sexier version of Rob Swire.” 

Karkat is thankful Dave then turns back around to his computer so he doesn’t have to see his expression as that same warmth flashes through him. 

—

Karkat is on his way to meet someone for a night spot at Omnia when he gets the call. 

It’s Dave. 

“Hello?” he says, his eyebrows scrunching down in confusion.

“Uh, hey man,” Dave’s shaky voice answers him. 

“Dave? What’s up, I got a meeting for the Omnia spot.”

“Ah, fuck, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called you.”

“No dude it’s fine just tell me what’s up before I start suspecting I need to call your PR agent.” 

Dave laughs softly. “I’m uh. Fuck. Can you come here?”

Karkat bites his lip. He should go to this meeting. If he doesn’t go, he’s a bad manager. He’ll have to reschedule, maybe lose the opportunity entirely. They’ll miss their slot this month. 

“I need a reason Dave. What’s going on. You know I’ll hide the body but you gotta tell me.”

Dave laughs weakly. “God you’re going to be so mad at me. I’m—“ he pauses, draws in another shaking breath. “I’m having a really bad trip. I just need someone here I can trust before I actually lose my shit and my brain turns into Kim Kardashian’s banana pudding.”

Karkat’s face scrunches up. “Dave, I—“

“Karkat. Please.” 

His heart sinks but his stomach flips. Dave needs him right now. He trusts him, and of all the people he could have called he called him. “Right. Okay. I’ll be right there. I’m gonna let myself in, okay?” 

“Sounds good. See you soon dude. Hurry.” Dave ends the call on the tense note. 

Shaking his head, Karkat dials up the Omnia contact to cancel the meeting. He flinches and thinks of the angry emails he’s going to get tomorrow about it from his publicist. 

 

He knocks twice before letting himself in. Dave is sprawled on his couch with his face in his hands moaning. At Karkats entry he jumps and shifts, looking up at him. 

“What the— oh thank god it’s you.” Dave sits up on the couch and steadies himself . 

“Whoa dude, how you doin.” 

Dave groans and pats the seat next to him. Karkat goes to sit down as directed and Dave immediately flops his head back down into Karkats lap. “Oh sweet solid human,” he says. 

Karkat freezes. Dave keeps talking. 

“I swear to god the wall has been breathing on me for the last half hour.” 

At that, Karkat breaks out laughing. Dave joins him with his own trembling chuckle from his lap. 

“Dave, what did you take?” 

The man in his lap brings his knees up to his chest, childlike. “Shrooms. They tasted like ass.” 

Karkat laughs again. “And now you’re having a bad trip. How fucking poetic.” Dave rolls up onto his back to look at him.

“Dude this shit sucks okay. It’s called a bad trip for a reason. It’s like you boarded a plane to Alaska and you get there and you realize you fucked up but you can’t request a refund and gotta hang in Alaska for a week before you can go home. They don’t even have oranges in Alaska dude how can I live without oranges.” 

Karkat sighs. “Then why did you take it?”

Dave groans. “Can we talk about that another time. Just do your manager shit and makes this better.”

“Wow. Ouch. And here I thought I was coming to you as a friend, asshole.” 

Dave paws at his knee. “You know I didn’t mean it like that. You are my friend. Best friend.” 

Oh fuck, he is? He guesses he is. Dave is probably just tripping. At least he didn’t tack on a ‘no homo’ this time. 

He keeps talking. “I was just saying, I dunno, you’re good at taking something that’s shit and making it better. I don’t know where I’d be without you Karkat.”

His hands hesitate for one blistering second as his fingers float above Dave’s hair. He reaches a decision and runs the tips of his fingers through his blonde locks. 

“Mmmmph. Keep doing that,” Dave murmurs. 

Karkat feels that fluttering in his stomach, paired with a warning alarm, telling him that he shouldn’t do this. It’s just making it harder for himself. 

But. Maybe he can have this. Just this from Dave, he can take it. 

“Are you hungry?” He offers as he continues to run gentle fingers over his scalp. 

“Oh no. If I even think about food I’m gonna hurl.” 

Karkat groans and wishes he hadn’t missed that meeting. He’s got a long couple of hours ahead. Dave keeps his head in Karkats lap for over an hour. They talk in short bursts before Dave gets freaked out again. 

Karkat calms him with those soft strokes of his hair, directing him to breathe deeply. 

Dave sighs. “Just. Thank you for everything Karkat.”

“I don’t get paid enough for this.” 

“Wow, I wonder who is the person that’s in charge of that decision? Maybe you should talk to them?” 

Karkat laughs. When he’s not paying attention, his hand slips and trails down the side of Dave’s face. 

He quickly realizes his err and snaps his hand back. 

Dave laughs, but it’s shaky and breathless. “No homo dude. Nothing weird about caring for a homie trippin balls and touchin’ his face and stuff.”

Karkat sinks into himself and feels some of that lightness from earlier leave his chest. “Yeah, no shit.” He tries to sound amused, with a bit of eye roll, but it feels flat. He swallows thickly and hopes he doesn’t notice. 

—-

“Can you come over I’m just balls to the walls preposterously high right now and I need a human sized life raft in the form of a one managerial Karkat Vantas.”

Karkat throws down the crab leg he’d bit biting into. “On _what?_ ” he snaps.

The man he’s eating with looks surprised but Karkat quickly waves his hand to motion nothing is wrong while continuing to talk on the phone. “On what, asshole?” He says, a little quieter. 

“Weed! It’s fucking legal here to don’t get your parties in a wad over it.”

Karkat slips the back of hand over his eyes. “Oh my fucking god you idiot.” 

“Is that a yes? Please this is mega pathetic. If I play on your managerial fears will you come? Oops my hand slipped let me just post this inebriated image on Instagram _and_ Snapchat.” 

“Jesus fuck okay I’ll come. Just let me wrap this up you dumbass.” 

Karkat clicks off the phone. “We gotta finish this up.”

“So they’ll do it?”

“Oh, fuck no. Not someone who tries to recruit over the Bellagio buffet that’s cheap. Not for my clients.” 

And with that he got up and walked out to make his way back to Dave. He wasn’t really that hungry in the first place anyways. 

When he gets to Dave’s place they end up playing games and making quesadillas and laughing about the recruiter for Cromwell Karkat had just met with. Dave howls while Karkat tells him about Drais and their ongoing reputation problem and the last five proposals he’s turned down over free meals.

Dave asks to watch a movie. 

“Oh my fucking god, I’m never watching a movie with your high ass again. Do you even remember what happened last time?” 

Dave stares at him with red-veined and faded eyes. “Nope.” 

“You would not shut up about how ridiculous Leonardo Dicaprio was the entire time. You were obnoxious dude.” 

Dave laughs. “Oh shit I remember that. I was way too high. Like existentially high. I kind of am now actually but hanging out with you makes it better,” he laughs quietly, his eyes staring through the window and zoning out for a second. Karkat’s eyes hover on him more intensely than he should allow. “I just keep thinking about what’s the point of all this shit. It doesn’t even matter anyways. My job is just playing music for people that are gonna be too fucked up to remember it the next day. But then you’re here and it just kind of feels okay, like I can deal with it.” 

Karkat finds himself at a loss of words, staring at him from the other end of the couch. 

“Forget it, it’s just a bunch of pussy garbage,” Dave blabbers on. 

“Dave,” Karkat starts. “Are you…. Happy?” 

Dave shifts uncomfortably and swallows thickly, but he relaxes every so slightly. Karkat wonders if Dave really thought he was going to ridicule him or something. “I mean I should be happy, right? I’m famous. I’m successful. Our gigs have lines out the door, they sell out. I live in this fucking fancy apartment. But I dunno something is just kind of missing.” By the time he finishes speaking his eyes are downcast onto the floor. “I’m gonna get a drink.” 

He goes to stand up but Karkat throws a hand out. “Dave, don’t.” 

Dave pauses. 

“Let’s just watch your movie, dude. You can rant as much as you like.” 

Dave sinks back into the couch and nods, fumbling for the remote. 

They end up analyzing Inception until Dave passes out before the ending. 

Karkat brushes his hand to check if he’s asleep and forces himself to stand when it leaves a burning ache in his chest. 

Maybe one day Dave will give him that, and he won’t have to take it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: slurs, homophobia
> 
>  
> 
> i have finals but this was sitting in my docs so like fuck it

It was an incredible set. 

Dirk and Dave are doing some VIP meet and greet, taking pictures and signing autographs. Karkat watches from several feet away, making sure everything goes smoothly and no one person spends too much time with them. 

Then he hears it. 

“DIRK. STRIDER,” someone screams from through the crowd of people waiting to meet the two DJs. Karkat steps to the side away from the flashing cameras so he can see the source of the commotion.

Someone is slowly but surely bowling their way through the crowd. 

Dirk turns toward the crowd and purses his lips uncomfortably. His eyebrows furrow underneath his glasses. Karkat braces himself to the side, preparing to move if he needs to. He steps over to Dirk in between the next set of fans taking a picture. 

“Any idea who that is?”

Dirk’s back is rigid, and his lips are twisted into an uncomfortable frown. “Maybe.” He’s standing on the balls of his feet, looking ready to make a break for it. 

“Should I take care of them?” Karkat offers. Dirk nods imperceptibly, and it’s all Karkat needs. 

Except Karkat is too late.

He’s already here. 

“Dirk Strider!” bald rapper Caliborn screams from behind the last set of velvet rope barriers before shoving them down and staggering over. He’s sweating through his white tank that is overlaid with ridiculous gold chains, one holding a massive clock. His eyes are bugged out and he sways, drunk and enraged. Everyone stills in shock as the well-known rapper, who also had performed at the same festival that weekend, yells so loud spittle flies from his mouth. The security standing by seems unsure of what to do as they regard the inebriated celebrity. “Don’t you fucking ignore me you fucking--” 

Oh, hell no. 

After all his time sparring with Dirk and Dave, Karkat is not about to let whatever word is next in his mouth come out. Cameras flash wildly around them as the scene unfolds. 

Karkat swiftly steps forward and his fist smashes squarely into Caliborn’s excessively tattooed face, knocking the rabid drunk flat onto his ass. 

_Fuck._

He apologizes to the fans and security drags the stunned rapper away. No one questions his action, except he knows their PR agent is going to be on his ass in a few hours. Maybe tomorrow, if he’s lucky. 

He ushers Dirk and Dave back to their trailers. Dirk is silent. His mouth stays a thin line as they walk and his head doesn’t deviate from the path before him. 

Dave trails behind, staring at Karkat. 

“Holy shit,” he says, wonder in his voice. “That was _awesome_.”

\---

He was hoping the moment would fade into obscurity without any scandal, but of course that’s not his luck. Nor is that how the internet functions. 

Even though he’s just the manager, he’s ‘just the manager’ for the goddamn Striders. 

A video of him punching the lights out of Caliborn gets uploaded on worldstarrhiphop.net, and then instagram, and facebook, and boy does shit hit the fan on his phone. 

Terezi sends five messages of her just laughing. 

Nepeta calls him up with an hour of the first video hitting the internet. 

“Karkat, what did you _do_?” she asks. He really never tires of the way she purrs her words and rolls her r’s, but today it’s dripping with disappointment.

“My job,” he snaps undeservingly. Nepeta doesn’t deserve that, she does so much for him and his boys already. “--Sorry. A little on edge,” he says more quietly. 

“Well. Somehow I’m more relieved it was you!” And not Dirk or Dave, he supposes she means. 

“Does that mean I’m off the hook?”

“Absolutely not. You assaulted Caliborn, you know, the famous rapper? Maybe you’ve heard of him?” 

Karkat snorts. “Alright listen. He was about to say some serious bullshit to Dirk and you know I would never let anything happen to them.”

Nepeta pauses, a few long moments as she considers his declaration. “You can’t always save them, Karkat.” 

It hits him, somewhere he can’t pinpoint in his chest. A low blow, even if unintentional. He ignores it. “That’s my goddamn _job_ ,” he denies futilely. 

“It’s not and you know it, Karkitty!” 

He hates that nickname. He hates it. Thank god he’s just on a private line with her and not on one of the four-way calls he also has with her and the boys. They would never stop saying it. Especially Dave. “Good fucking god, that’s not important right now. Can you just… you can take care of this one, right? I don’t care if I take hit, Dirk and Dave can’t.” 

“Mmmmmm. This one is going to cost you a favor.” 

Karkat pauses. Nepeta isn’t one to usually hold a debt over someone’s head. “Yeah?”

“Well, I gotta think on it, don’t I?”

“Yeah well. Don’t keep me waiting too long. Let me know how you end up spinning this one.” 

\---

Of all the social platforms Karkat is practically required to use as a manger, Twitter is the source of most of his ire. It’s so easy for people to just say bullshit and then he has to deal with it. 

He should have known there would be other consequences for what happened with Caliborn. 

They’re all back and settled in their Vegas apartments the day after that festival trip, but the aftereffects are still rippling through social media. 

Caliborn’s callout tweet posted that morning shakes him too his core:

Caliborn @caliborn  
Dirk Strider sucked my dick at outside lands last year and is a little pussy bitch lol 

Caliborn @Caliborn  
@zzyxx it’s not gay if you’re the one getting your dick sucked everyone knows that

Caliborn @Caliborn  
@zzyxx dumbass 

He texts Dirk immediately. 

\--WE SHOULD TALK.

\--Yeah. 

\--ILL COME TO YOU. 

When Dirk lets him in, he’s wearing his sunglasses and avoiding eye contact with Karkat. 

“I don’t know if I can make this one go away,” he admits as the door closes behind him. 

Dirk shrugs and goes to sit on the armrest, not even the actual seat, of his couch. Forever attempting to be the epitome of chill, he crosses his legs and looks out the window, over the Vegas skyline. “I know.” 

“I’m not sure what you want me to do about this.”

Dirk nods again but doesn’t look at him or away from the window. 

“Have you talked to him?” Karkat knows it’s vague, but Dirk knows who he’s talking about. 

“No.” 

“Do you--”

“It’s fine.”

Karkat has rarely seen him so closed off. It’s unsettling to see him so upset. He supposes he hadn’t really needed to come, but he knows that Dirk appreciates him being there. Even if he won’t say. 

“We should call Nepeta.” 

Dirk nods. “I can do it later.” 

Karkat stands there for a few more awkward, useless moments before turning to leave. He takes two steps and Dirk speaks again.

“Thanks.”

“For what?” Karkat turns back to look at him, confused.

“For not asking me if I actually did.” 

\---

His phone goes off a little before noon with a link from Nepeta. It’s an Instagram post. 

Karkat also hates Instagram, but definitely not as much as Twitter. 

He’s not sure to laugh or cry at what he sees when he opens the post. 

It’s an image of of actor-model Jake English, standing in front of what seems to be a full-length mirror. He’s shirtless and is only wearing fitted khakis with a bit of his signature underwear brand sticking out. One of this thumbs is shamelessly in the waistband and the other is wrapped around his phone, taking the photo. He’s looking into the mirror, lips in a half-smile, half-smirk, all confidence.

However it’s not the photo that makes Karkat almost drop his phone. It’s the caption.

@therealJakeEnglish:  
@dirkstriderofficial, it appears my hand has been forced. Would I be suitable as a date this weekend? Let’s make it official.  
#boyfriends? #I hope

He flips away from it and to the group message he has with Dirk and Dave.

\-- THE PARIS RESTAURANT. IN ONE HOUR, ON THE DOT. NO EXCUSES.

He’s not sure what damage control is going to be worse- this social media shitshow, or the relationship between Dirk and Dave. 

 

Karkat likes having these meeting lunches at the Paris restaurant for three reasons: 1. They have a small private room on hand for important meetings. 2. They have wifi and 3. They make his favorite crab benedict. The wait staff is also somehow quite good about keeping his private meetings private. 

When he speaks to the host they immediately lead Karkat to the private dining room, where he sets up his laptop and prepares for a call with Nepeta. Dirk shows up first, looking defeated. He’s not wearing his glasses and it appears that no one recognized him as a result 

“Why do you look so sad? The man of your dreams asked you out today, didn’t he?” Karkat pokes. 

Dirk frowns deeply at him. “This meeting is a bad idea.” 

“You don’t get to say that until Dave shows up.”

“Does he have to be here?”

Karkat looks up at him and searches his face. “When you two became a duo, you made an agreement.”

Dirk nods, Karkat doesn’t have to explain any more. He knows. Everything that affects Dirk affects him too. 

Dave shows up and he looks…. Nervous. He similarly hadn’t worn his glasses to avoid attention. He looks at Dirk and quickly away, electing to sit at one of the unoccupied chairs around the rectangular table. 

Karkat sighs. “I’m not gonna beat around the bush here. We’ve had some mad shit go down the last few days. Some of it’s my fault--”

“It’s _not_ your fault,” Dirk interrupts him. 

“Dirk, what the fucking fuck?” Dave says at the same time. 

Karkat looks up from his computer at him. “If I hadn’t punched him then--”

“He would have done it anyways because I was ignoring him,” Dirk says. 

“What the hell is going on?” Dave attempts to interrupt again.

Reluctantly, both Dirk and Karkat look to face Dave, and then back at each other.

“I’m going to call your PR agent and see what she has to say,” Karkat murmurs. 

In the background, Dave attempts to engage Dirk, who frowns and stonewalls. The air in the room is unbearably tense. 

“So uh… Jake English, huh?” Dave says.

Dirk nods.

“Was it uh… was it a joke?” 

Karkat flinches. Dave has absolutely stepped in it. 

Dirk turns the full force of a glare on Dave. “We’re dating. Is that going to be a problem?”

Karkat is impressed. He thought Dirk would have taken a different route. 

Dave flusters. “N-no! Definitely not. Not at all. I just, uh…”

The call with Nepeta connects. “Hello, boys!” she greets, but her usual cheer doesn’t shine through. “Looks like we’re in a bit of a social media pickle here aren’t we?”

Dirk sighs heavily. “I’m sorry.” 

“You have _nothing_ to be sorry for, Dirk. I’m surprised you aren’t mad at Jake for that little power move there!” Nepeta says. Power move is certainly a way to put it. 

Dirk frowns. Karkat is surprised, he really would have thought Dirk would be happy. He of all people knew how their relationship had gone, with the behind the scenes pining and secret rendezvous at Los Angeles parties that soon grew into much more. 

Oh, all the fucking _pining_ he listened to. It’s almost a goddamn relief. Almost. 

He probably is happy, just caught in the awkward shredder between Jake and the partnership with his brother. 

“Seriously guys what the fuck is going on,” Dave asks again while the other three people talk without him. He’s ignored. 

“Well, there’s a number of ways we could handle this,” Nepeta starts to explain. 

She lists out a few ideas, and both Karkat and Dirk nod as they listen. 

“Dirk, why didn’t you ever tell me?” Dave says pleadingly, and he actually sounds hurt. He’s ignoring Nepeta entirely.

Silence falls on the room. 

Dirk stares at him now. Karkat full on gapes. Even Nepeta quiets, though she can’t see the room. 

“What? What did I say? Why have both of you been keeping stuff from me?” Dave pleads, sounding honestly pathetic. 

It triggers something in Dirk, who stands up out of his chair. Dave’s mouth clamps shut as his brother rises to full height. Karkat continues to stare, unable to move and break the scene. 

Karkat tries to speak but Dirk angrily beats him to it. “Dave, do you ever fucking hear yourself sometimes?” He snaps. 

Karkat watches warily. There is one thing he knows more than anything- Dirk adores Dave, and in there entire partnership together he’s never argued with him. Not once. 

“I don’t understand, dude.” Dave only looks up at him with hurt in his eyes and voice as the words ring out in the room. “Why didn’t-- Why didn’t you ever tell me?” It’s painfully genuine. 

“You want to know _why I didn’t tell you_ , huh?” Dirk sucks in a ragged breath. When he speaks, there is palpable, unrestrained anger in his voice. “I am fucking sick of hearing ‘no homo’ this and ‘no homo’ that from you, Dave. I’m dating Jake English. I’ve been dating him for _months_ now. Fucking months! Oh yeah, and while we get all this shit on the table, I’ll fucking say it. I’m gay. Yeah. Your brother is gay.”

Dave blinks at him and then lowers his eyes, which move under his eyelids as he recalls, clearly uncomfortable. He doesn’t speak for a few long seconds. “I just… I just wish you would have told me. So that I didn’t have to learn through _Instagram_.”

A silence falls over the room.

Nepeta is the one to break it. “Well then! Karkat, I’ll take care of my side of things-- and I’ve decided I know what I want!”

Karkat looks back down at his computer. Now is absolutely not the time. “Yeah?”

Dirk and Dave are staring at each other, appearing to ignore Nepeta. 

“Dinner!” Nepeta giggles. 

Karkat’s eyebrows scrunch. 

Dave’s head now whips toward Karkat as Nepeta ends the call from her side. “What the fuck? Are you dating our PR agent? Karkat, you can’t date our fucking PR agent!”

Karkat can’t form a reasonable response. “I can do whatever I want, Dave,” he says coldly, a knee jerk reaction. “We’re not, she just said that.” He then addends, a little more calmly. 

But then he looks at Dave and he appears devastated as he glances between Karkat and Dirk across the table. 

Dave seems to realize something, and he wilts over himself into his chair. 

“We don’t have any shows this week, right?” Dirk asks Karkat.

Karkat watches Dave but shakes his head. “Not until next week.” They were supposed to be in the studio, but it doesn’t look like that’s happening now. They still have to record Casa de Strider on Wednesday, but they can do it remotely if needed. Dirk’s done it before. 

“I’m going to LA,” Dirk announces. “If you need me you know what to do.”

He turns to go, leaving a miserable Dave and uncomfortable Karkat in his wake.


	5. Chapter 5

It’s business as usual, for a little while. Dave and Dirk finish that week’s episode of Casa de Strider far more painlessly than Karkat had expected. 

In the wake of Dirk’s departure, Dave is somehow… clingy. His hurt is still palpable through the scant texts he sends. 

One night a few days later he sends Karkat a random text reminder: ‘remember not to date our PR agent bro’.

The next day:

-wait you guys aren’t actually a thing are you

-IM NOT GOING TO WASTE TIME ANSWERING THIS QUESTION

Dirk comes home, eventually. Karkat isn’t sure whether it’s his business to ask if they’ve talked so he stays away. 

So while Karkat went on with his business, staying away from Dave because it was the right thing to do, something was happening with Dave. 

It’s almost two weeks since the incident when everything really implodes. 

Dave doesn’t show for Casa de Strider recording that Wednesday morning, which shocks Karkat. Dave had shown up hungover, maybe still high to a couple of recording sessions before- but one thing he would not let slide is missing Casa de Strider and leaving Dirk to handle it all himself. 

While Dirk lies to the listeners and says Dave is so sick he can’t even speak, Karkat rushes across town to his condo, thankful that he’s got the key to Dave’s. 

He bangs on the door and there is no answer, tries calling Dave to find his phone is off, and then tells himself he has no other choice before unlocking the door at throw it open.

These apartments have trendy sliding doors to the bedroom and Karkat hesitates before quietly pushing it open. 

His entire body freezes when he sees his little blonde starlet sleeping peacefully in bed.

Next to another man. 

“Oh, fuck this,” he growls when he snaps back to life. This feeling-- he knows it. The feeling of being stuck between emotions and a job, the same mistake he keeps making over and over. An issue he knew he might run into the day Dave told him he thought of them as friends. The best of friends. 

His body wants to run but his mind wins out and forces himself forward. If he were any more pissed he’d grab a glass of cold water and pour it on Dave. 

“You missed your show, you fucking dumbass,” Karkat says when he’s leaning over the bed staring down at his client, trying as hard as possible to ignore the body beside him. 

Dave sits up with a start. “I missed CDS?” His hands immediately go to his face. “Fuck, my head.”

“Do you know what happens when you sign a contact, Dave? Do you have any sense of what happens when you don’t make good on your part of the bargain?” Karkat knows he’s being unnecessarily harsh but he can’t help it right now. “Enjoy your hangover.” He debates for a second making note of the other person in the room but Dave beats him to it as he slowly and with dawning horror turns and looks over at the body next to him. 

“Oh,” Dave says, and blinks as he realizes something, or maybe is hit with the memories of his previous wild night. Or bender, who fucking knows. 

“I’m out of here. Get it together, Dave. If not for me but for your brother,” Karkat spits before turning and making his way out. 

“Karkat, Karkat wait!” Dave calls and stumbles out of bed. 

He’s completely naked. Karkat turns and looks at him for half a second before quickly averting his eyes. A hot flush hits him and leaves as fast as it came. 

“What?” he snaps. 

Dave hurriedly grabs the closest pair of boxers and yanks them on. He then walks out into his living room motioning for Karkat to follow him. 

When he finally faces Karkat full on, his arms are crossed and he can’t actually completely look at him.

“Do you have something to say that will magically fix all this?”

Dave puffs out a breath of air. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

The request slaps Karkat. “Excuse me?”

Dave shifts uncomfortably. “Yeah. About… about that.” He nods towards his room. 

“About _what_ Dave?” Karkat is practically yelling now. 

“That I slept with a guy!” Dave yells back and immediately silences, realizing the weight of what he just said. 

Alright, now Karkat’s going to get mad. “Dave, what the hell is your problem? What makes you think anyone cares about this?”

“I don’t know! You just can’t… you just can’t… goddammit. I’m not gay.”

“Oh my god please, not this again. I don’t care! Dirk definitely won’t care! Anyone that fucking matters ‘won’t care’.”

“You don’t care?” Dave says with uncertainty. 

“Why the fuck would I care?” Karkat snaps.

Dave just stares at him

Karkat exhales angrily. “I don’t fucking care, Dave! I’m bi, you idiot!”

Dave gapes at him. “You’re bi? Since when?”

“Since fucking forever you self-absorbed prick. The world doesn’t revolve around you, Dave. Get over yourself.” It’s mean. Dave probably doesn’t deserve it. 

Dave stands in shock and Karkat wrenches himself away from the scene as fast as he can. 

Both he and Dave a lot of thinking to do.


	6. Chapter 6

Karkat walks to the elevator with an ache in his chest. Had that been the right thing to do? 

Even worse was seeing Dave with someone else… it hurt. Oh hell, did it hurt. Coupled with finding out that Dave was _experimenting_. Karkat didn’t know what entirely to make of it. After wanting Dave for so long… 

Did it alleviate the crush or make it worse? Only time will tell, after the fallout. Pining like this feels so juvenile, if only he could just turn it off. 

Karkat isn’t one for drinking in the day, but he finds himself with one in the early afternoon later. It’s hard for him not to wish he was the one running his fingers through Dave’s hair, kissing him tenderly into the bed. 

Shit, shit, he can’t do this to himself. He needs a distraction. Unfortunately, since the Striders are his main priority, no matter what he does he’ll have no choice but to think about Dave in some capacity. Hopefully Dave chooses this time to not text him as he usually does. 

He’d been avoiding talking to Nepeta. It was quite a move she pulled on him, during that tense conversation between Dirk and Dave. 

It’s not that he wouldn’t date her. Nepeta was cute. It’s just that he is unfortunately hung up on someone who obviously can not and does not return his feelings. It would be unfair to her. He’d been on the receiving end of a relationship like that, and he certainly wouldn’t wish it on another. 

He should call and tell her that: Not now. Eventually, maybe. Once he gets over this apparently bi-curious asshole in his life. 

He ends up working, anyways. He’s always been like that. He ends up booking a few gigs for them, festivals and whatnot. Referring to his boys as ‘The Striders’ helps him separate his thoughts on Dave. 

He’ll be okay, somehow. 

-

It’s a strange, uncertain stare from Dave next time he sees Karkat. He doesn’t say anything. They’re scheduled to record that day, if Dirk shows up. 

Dirk, surprisingly, does. 

As soon as he shows up Dave stands up out of his chair and gazes at him. Dirk ignores it, but then something unexpected happens.

“Hey Karkat, can I get a few minutes with Dirk? Alone, please,” Dave requests. 

Karkat is slightly taken aback, with Dirk even more so, but he shrugs and leaves. 

When he comes back Dirk is wiping at his eyes under his glasses, and the the room feels a bit less tense. 

-

Things go back to normal, more or less.  
The homophobic comments from Dave drop way off, but he still seems hesitant around Karkat. He’s even avoiding him, maybe. 

It’s fine, Karkat is fine with it. It’s not like he’s brothers with him, they’re just… friends. 

Yeah. Friends. It’s fine. 

 

And then it’s not fine. 

Karkat makes himself as sparse as possible. Whereas before he was practically a helicopter parent, he is as hands off as could be now. 

In all his avoidance, he had still forgotten about Dave’s one growing problem. 

It’s a regular club night in Vegas when he comes to the back room behind the stage to find no Dirk…. And Dave, passed out on the couch.

The Striders are supposed to go on in what, fifteen minutes? Holy shit. This can’t be happening. 

He kicks the door shut and goes to shake Dave. His head lolls. 

Shit, shit. This can’t be happening. He’s still breathing, but clearly very, very intoxicated. There’s no way he’ll be able to go on stage like this. 

Dirk shows up five minutes later, cutting it dangerously close to go time. Karkat has already assembled a waste basket and grabbed a glass of water for Dave. 

“Oh, shit,” Dirk says. 

“Yeah, I know,” Karkat grumbles. 

“What happened?”

“I was hoping I could ask you.” Karkat looks up at Dirk.

Dirk shrugs. “I just got here.” 

Karkat frowns. “Yeah, I figured that. You uh… you good to do the show?”

He does not miss how Dirk freezes. “Without Dave?” 

“I don’t think he’s gonna be fucking ready anytime soon.”

“I uh… shit. I dunno man,” he stumbles. Karkat can see how suddenly nervous he is. 

He steps away from Dave towards Dirk. “You’ve hosted Casa de Strider by yourself before.”

“Well yeah but… but that’s different,” Dirk says. 

“Dirk. You can do this.” Karkat says with conviction, looking at him seriously. “You don’t… You’re very talented, and so is Dave, but you don’t need him to throw a good show.” 

“I’ve never… I’ve never done a set without Dave,” Dirk wheezes. 

“ _Yes you have_ ,” Karkat says. “Everytime Dave gets too fucked up on stage, like I know you’ve seen a ton of times, you take over and do just fine.” Karkat approaches him slowly, watching Dirk landslide into an anxiety attack. He needs to help him out of it. 

Dirk shakes his head. “That’s different.”

“No it isn’t! Dirk, I need you to go out there and throw down a mad set like you always do, whether or not Dave is there.”

Dirk sucks in a breath, clenches his fists at his sides. “We’re partners. I need him.” 

Karkat shakes his head. “Duos and trios sometimes split for solo shows…. You can do this, Dirk.” 

Dirk stares at him. Karkat puts a hand on his shoulder. “You can do this. Breathe.” 

Dirk unclenches his hands, breathing out. Karkat watches him collect himself over several long seconds. 

“Okay, okay… I’ll do it.” 

Karkat smiles. “You’re gonna be great, alright?” He squeezes his shoulder and releases him as Dirk’s breathing continues to calm down. 

“I need to take care of Dave, you okay to head out there without me?”

Dirk nods, still somewhat robotically. “Yeah… yeah. I got it.” 

He slips out of the room, presumably heading toward the stage to begin the set. 

Karkat turns his focus back to Dave. 

He lifts Dave up and places himself so that he can rest the inebriated DJ’s head in his lap, ready to turn him if he needs to vomit into the basket. All the while he runs his hands through his thin blonde hair, almost absentmindedly. 

Finally Dave makes a gurgling noise and Karkat flips him so that he can empty his stomach into the trash can. 

“Oh, Dave,” Karkat says to no one. “You pitiful, broken human.” He rubs Dave’s back and sighs heavily. 

“How do I fix you?”


End file.
